Big Shot
by Andraia452
Summary: Why was Chris McLean absent for so much of Basic Straining? Chris and Chef discuss the reason for his disappearance.


"Still can't believe they made me sit this one out." Chris grumbled as he climbed into the cozy king-sized bed.

Chef leaned back on three thick pillows, his pointer finger pushing fallen reading glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Chris lay on his stomach, burying himself under a plush baby blue comforter. "A kid or four gets a concussion, and the network gets soooo sensitive." Rolling his eyes, he propped his chin up with both palms. "I've personally checked all of the challenges to make sure they were safe... enough."

Reaching over to the nightstand, he grabbed the heavy black binder, dumping it onto his pillow with a soft thud. "Besides, those concussions were not my fault. I can't help it if the world's clumsiest teens were cast on my show." Smirking eyes looked at Chef. "_A Military History of Canada_? You must be seriously sleep deprived if that's your bedtime story."

The burly man continued to ignore his ranting bedmate. He casually pressed his thumb to his tongue and used the moistened digit to turn the page.

An audible huff escaped the host's lips. He'd had a rough three days being intermittently scolded by network executives and this aura of indifference was infuriating. Unable to provoke him into a conversation over his reading selection, Chris would have to try another method. Opening the large binder, he was met by a unibrow and angry scowl. His finger traced the solid X through her picture he had gleefully drawn on Day 6. "Now this one was rather unpleasant."

Chef glanced at the casting sheet. "I don't know. I kind of admired her spirit. She had a 'take no crap' kind of attitude."

Chris' mouth fell open. "Need I remind you, she kicked me in the shin... _in the shin_!"

The former military man softly chuckled, eyes returning to his book.

Chris flipped through the pages, the ex-players marked like fallen soldiers. "Noah - boring. Did he even _try_ to participate? Katie, Sadie? Half a brain split between two idiots. Tyler? So un-jock-a-licious. Could that kid have been less coordinated? Beth - nerd alert! Ezekiel? Next! This whole cast is so lame! They need me to spice things up for them! Don't they want to win a Gemmy? I'm practically handing it to them, but do they appreciate me?"

As Chris continued, wild red hair caught Chef's attention. "Crazy was kind of fun."

"Yeah, she was interesting." Chris frowned. "Too bad she didn't last longer."

He paused at the next contestant, bright blue eyes staring back at him. A sharp poke to his side made him release a breath he didn't know he was holding. Embarrassed, he glanced up at the taller male to be met with a disapproving glare and head shake. "I know, I know." A flush crept into chiseled cheeks. "The network wasn't exactly happy when I called this kid hot on national TV."

Chef rolled his eyes, sparking an indignant response. "Hey! You gave him an 8 out of 9 "talent" score just for being good-looking, but they seemed to forget about that."

The burly man closed his book and laid it on the adjacent nightstand, placing his reading glasses on top. "Okay, Pretty Boy, stop your jealousy. It's obvious you want to talk about what happened, so shoot."

"Three days! Did I really need three days worth of meetings to hear everything they didn't like so far? We're only halfway through. If they want a Season 2 international deal, things need to be exciting!" He continued to ramble, more to himself than the other beside him. "I've suffered plenty! I nearly choked to death on that so-called excuse of a burnt dessert." Pert nose crinkled in disgust at the memory. "And a _cook_ as a _host_? Whoever thought _that_ would be a good idea?"

"I don't know," Chef interrupted, jarring Chris from his rhetorical questioning. "I always thought of myself as your co-host."

Chris chuckled at the suggestion. "Co-host? What do you know about summarizing events? Throwing to commercial? Keeping the correct voice intonation? Saying just enough to have the audience hungry for more? Previewing the next episode?" Manicured hands theatrically punctuated each sentence.

Chef turned away, reaching for his book again. "Well, if you're gonna be an asshole …"

Chris closed his eyes and took a deep breath, sheepishly bowing his head. Exhaling slowly, he admitted in a soft voice, "They felt some of my challenges were a bit … excessive." Ticking off items on his fingers, he continued, "Dodgeball, camping, talent shows - all hunky dory. Rusty nails, oils slicks, electric jellyfish - not so much. They tend to frown at things that have the potential to cause severe bodily harm." Eyes glued to the laminated applicant in front of him, he mumbled, "I also had to sit through a 6-hour sexual harassment seminar for my comments on Justin and Gwen."

Chef quirked an eyebrow. "Just those two?"

"Now who's the jealous one?" Eyes crinkled, the sing-song lilt returning.

"Jealous? Pfft. Of someone who can't even last a full day in a challenge? I prefer my soldiers with more tenacity."

"I've had such a hard few days and all you can do is mock me? Not cool, dude." The lithe body squirmed under the sheets in whiny complaint.

"Yeah," Chef sarcastically agreed. "You've had it so hard, sitting your sorry butt in air conditioning the majority of the day. Not like you were baking in the heat, ending challenges at 3a.m., starting the next one at 5, dealing with some smartass kid and his smartass remarks…"

"Exactly." The genuine tone implied the majority of what was said went unheard. He selfishly continued, "So, what else did I learn? Forgetting you buried a kid and shooting hot sauce in their eyes fall in the No category. Mild explosives? Not a network favorite. What wimps! They were _mild_ explosives. No one would have gotten hurt … too badly. And don't even get me started on the William Tell challenge. I had them throw apples, not shoot arrows at each other! I totally had safety first."

"So does this mean you're going to tune it down? Have less threatening challenges?"

A hearty laugh boomed around the room. "As if! Wait 'til you see what I have planned for tomorrow: sky diving, bull-riding, jet skis in the shallowest part of the river, a possible cannibal challenge... They'll come around once they see what I do for ratings."

Thick fingers ruffled Chris' hair as he chuckled. "You are incorrigible."

A hand swiftly swatted him away. "Watch the hair! It's my best feature."

The dejected hand found bearded cheek. Gently caressing the short fuzz, he quipped, "I thought it was your man-shadow."

Chris jokingly scoffed, "You're right. I'm nothing without my stubble." Turning his head slightly, he tried to make subtle eye contact. "Did you miss me?"

The hand stroking jawline paused. Averting his eyes, Chef gruffed, "What kind of a question is that?" His arm nervously retreated to scratch the back of his neck. Clearing his throat, he shyly asked, "How 'bout you?"

Chris reached up, fingertips softly tracing the anchor tattoo on chiseled bicep. "Didn't I sneak out to see you on Day 1?" Feeling the muscle contract with his touch, he dropped his voice an octave. "You know, I almost got banned from the marshmallow ceremony for that, but the producers do like how I exploit the kids for laughs."

He received a gentle shove for the flirtation. Arching his shoulders, he turned his attention back to the book in front of him. "You know what would make me feel better after all the torment I've suffered? A massage."

Shaking his head, Chef half-muttered, half-laughed, "Did I already call you incorrigible?" Carefully straddling the host's legs as to not crush him under his weight, he pulled down the fluff of the comforter, exposing bare back. Rough fingers worked out the knots on the slender frame.

"That feels nice." Chris flipped a few more pages before pausing to gape at the leggy blonde, the permanent look of confusion affixed to her pretty face.

Peering over dark, wavy locks, Chef huffed, noting the reason the man underneath him had stilled. "She's too young for you."

Shrugging casually, Chris quipped, "Age of consent in Canada is 16, dude."

Calloused digits dug a little too harshly just below shoulder blades causing Chris to cry out in discomfort. The heavier man swung his leg over, re-settling on his side of the mattress. "I think it's time for bed."

Wincing, both from slight pain and the clipped tone, the host agreed. "Okay, just one more thing I have to do, and then I'll turn off the light."

Chef adjusted the salmon-colored nightcap on his head. The Serta creaked as Chris moved to a sitting position. "Hey." A gentle arm touch startled him. "You, um... you did a good job hosting this episode." The statement was so rushed, it took Chef a moment to catch onto the words.

Expression softening, he turned to the smaller man. "It's not an easy task, corralling all those kids, keeping your energy up, entertaining the average viewer... but you did a good job... Master Chief." That wink could always make the military man melt. A compliment from Chris did not come easy, so he accepted it with a toothy smile.

The pungent scent of uncapped marker permeated the room as Chris drew a fresh X over the most recently eliminated contestant. "Ha, ha. Won't miss this one."

"You think Bossy is really gonna call her lawyers on us?"

The binder closed with a snap. It thunked loudly as it was dropped on the nightstand. He shook his head with a laugh. "Nah, she's all talk." Chris smiled at Chef as he pulled the lamp chain, shrouding them in serene darkness. "And if she does, so what? She's just a kid. What's really gonna happen?"


End file.
